Sailing Along the Sandy Seas
by Nehszriah
Summary: Fire crackled in the metal hearth, providing warmth for the sun-bronzed sailors gathered around. Light from the moons filled the solar sails, moving the ship along at a steady lull and rocking it gently just above the crests of the dunes. [Pirate AU, taken from a prompt.]


A/N: Sometimes, when I have the availability to fulfill prompts, I open up a window of time for people to submit an idea to my writing tumblr. This is the product of one of those times, and this time I remembered to crosspost in a timely manner.

The prompt for this one was simply "Whouffaldi or fuckwald Pirate AU". Not really a fan of the ship name, but whatever. If you want some sort of visual, just look up some images from the Martian fleets in _John Carter [of Mars]_ , mix it with the stuff you find in _Treasure Planet_ , and you've got the general idea.

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Sailing Along the Sandy Seas

Fire crackled in the metal hearth, providing warmth for the sun-bronzed sailors gathered around. Light from the moons filled the solar sails, moving the ship along at a steady lull and rocking it gently just above the crests of the dunes.

"There's an odd feel about the air tonight," one of the men said. He rubbed his hands over his upper arms before replacing his hands over the flames. "Do you think it has to do with Captain Nicola's detour?"

"Stop your pissing and moaning, Glenn," the first mate scoffed. "We're paid to do a job, nothing more, and if you keep on jabbering I'm going to throw you over the side into the fucking sand seas."

"I'm just saying," Glenn muttered. He shifted in place and frowned, glancing at the others around the hearth. It was clear he and the first mate were the old guard now—the other crew members were all young enough to be his children at this rate—and it made him feel awkward. Sure, he was in navigation, which could afford to have a paunchy member or two, but another bout with a rival ship like they had the month prior and he would easily become dragging weight. "Hey Olly, you got the maps copied yet?"

The second mate, a stringy lad with a mop of impossibly curly hair, nodded grumpily. "I would've finished before dinner, but your organization's shit and I couldn't find anything."

"There's nothing wrong with my organization—it's been that way for almost forty years…"

"I said _stop it_ , both of you," the first mate glowered. "If I have to fucking listen to you two cunts complain about your broken nails and moon cramps, you _will_ go overboard and you _will_ be tied up so all you do is drag along the dunes until you're so full of sand you can't even shit without digging out a fistful."

"Aren't you pleasant tonight, Malcolm?" chuckled a voice from above. Sitting on the lowest-most yard was a young woman, so small and petite she looked like a boy from a distance. She dangled her feet as she stared at the star-studded horizon, drinking from a skin with one hand and holding herself steady with another. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say we left the wrong man in port and took on his twin instead."

"Watch it Princess, or your tongue'll get you in irons one day," the first mate hissed. "You're lucky the captain let you join up—taking in runaways of your sort is nothing but trouble."

The woman capped her skin and stood up, stretching languidly at first and then walking towards some rigging as she hooked her drink back on her belt. She then made her way down to the deck via the rope, coming to a landing right next to the hearth. "You know," she said as she warmed up, "you're lucky that you all can choose your fates so freely. For people like me, the only way to have any say in the matter is to become that dangerous runaway. Besides, not even my father would recognize me now. Short hair, months in the sun, muscles from genuine work… I'd be a stranger in my own home."

"Well, if you ever feel homesick, you can always talk to me," Olly offered. He gave her a grin and adjusted the sight-goggles that were sitting on his forehead instead of on the pale patch over his eyes. "I can make you completely forget where you even are for the entire night, if you wish."

"Thanks for the concern, but I'd rather make love to a sand urchin," the woman snarked. The others around the hearth snickered at her reply, leaving the second mate bristling in embarrassment. It was short-lived, however, when a teenager came out from below the deck and whispered something in her ear, surprising her. "Oh really? Thank you, Courtney. Why don't you go see if Captain Nicola needs any help while you're up here, yeah?" Once the teen was gone, the woman turned back to the others and shrugged. "Sorry, boys; I'm needed elsewhere. See you in the morning." She turned and disappeared beneath the deck, off towards whatever it was that needed attention.

After ribbing Olly a bit more, the first mate decided that it was about time to turn in. He needed to be up with the sun, and everyone else that was not on first watch was already asleep. Down the ladder and he entered the lower level of the quarterdeck, where a storage chamber sat between his cabin and the cupboard the captain had gifted the second mate after the lad had threatened to piss himself or something like that—he couldn't remember. All he knew was that he needed a good night's sleep, and that his hammock was calling his name.

Except when he opened the door to his cabin, he saw the woman from earlier sitting at his desk, reading by the lamp that hung over their heads. He silently closed the door and hit the latch.

"What are you doing here, milady?" he asked, all malice from his voice gone. She closed the book and replaced it in the shelf on the desk before turning towards him.

"You know what I want," she said. The first mate approached her and knelt down, reaching up to hold her face in his long fingers. She leaned down and they kissed gently. "Yes; you are clever, aren't you?"

"Cleverer than you," he chuckled. The first mate laid in his hammock, his crewmate climbing in on top of him and settling herself on his waist. "The whole ship knows who you really are, and it took until you came along for anyone to even _guess_ at my identity." His hands began to travel up and down her thighs, thumbs teasing the skin just below the fabric of her skirt. "Even if you said something now they'd never believe you."

"What, the fact that I've got Tucker Whitehall, the vanished prince from one of the most influential kingdoms in the world, at my beck and call?" she purred, her lips barely brushing against his sternum. "No… I'd rather keep you a while yet before it comes to that." She tapped her fingers on his chest, thinking about how they were going to continue. "I prefer you like this: warm from the sun and a back strong from the seas. The man in the royal portrait I saw as a girl was too stifled and trapped."

"Something tells me you can sympathize, Lady Clara Oswin," he murmured. He moved his hands to her hips now, holding them in place as she fisted his hair and pulled him into another kiss, this one hungrier and more driven. His own hips bucked on accident and she let out a little laugh into his mouth.

"Steady now," she teased. "I have third watch tonight and I am going to make sure that the time between now and then will be worth our while."

"As you wish, _milady_."


End file.
